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The Quest for the Black Chimaera part 2: Comrades
It was late winter, the eve of the year 1011 of the Fourth Age of the most holy Seven. “So, you come bearing gifts, do ye?” The Dwarf was wide, even for his kin, and bore upon his shoulders the weight of many realms. No king was he, nor noble soul; merely worn with grief and years, as many great men become. “Yes, my lord,” Sinthaster said, extending the leather purse towards the once- handsome Dwarf. “No meager sum. I wager you have not seen such generosity in a long time.” The Dwarf grumbled as he fondled the bag. The room he counted in now was dark, lit only by a lone candle upon the oaken table where they now bartered. “400 Sovereigns for safe passage into Rhivic,” Sinthaster said, unsure as to the intent of the old Dwarf’s silence. “And your company beyond that. That there is enough for the finest Gildorian warhorse.” There was a beat; the Dwarf grabbed the purse by the drawstring and swung it about like a sling. With confidence he released the ballast. The coin purse sailed over the Darkmoon’s head and splattered against the door, raining gold flecks across the sullen decorum. “I don’t want your gold, Saint. Never have.” “Well,” Sinthaster said with a heave of his chest, “I’m not picking those coins up… so then consider them a gift. You can pick them off the ground after I leave and I’ll pretend you left them there all proud-like, eh?” The Dwarf smiled, “Already on the job. Usin’ muh toes to pick ‘em up. Good thing I’m so low to the ground, eh?” Sinthaster reciprocated the affection. He was always glad to see his old friend still amongst the living. Even for a Dwarf, Belkar was long-lived; halfway through his second century in this world, it would not be long before the Dwarf made passage to the Deep Way to sleep amongst the stones. After all, Unquala does not weep for the stout folk. Belkar would have been a handsome Dwarf, yet his scars were deep and many. Upon his face was bore a mighty burn which etched across his cheek and eye like a sprawling red ink stain. His beard was many shades of auburn and white and he wore it messily with no attention to braids or facial trinkets. “I cannot accept these terms,” Belkar said after a glance. “A prissy Saint like yerself would ne’er survive the winds of Rhivic.” “Belkar,” Sinthaster said with lament, “how then will I complete my mission? I need you.” Belkar chuckled, “Well, seems no secret that yer loaded to yer britches in bullions. Make light of that load and pay some poor sod to do your holy quest for ye, aye?” “Not as simple as you may think, Belkar… you see, what I seek is something that can only be found by a Darkmoon such as myself.” Belkar turned, angry at his own curiosity. “Oh bless me,” he said with a huff, “If this be another of yer schemes…” “The Black Chimaera, Belkar.” The Dwarf grabbed ahold of the table and heaved it aside like a breakfast biscuit. “Oh damn you! Yer plans to seduce me into yer bloody schemes are always better than the last, aren’t they?” “So you’ll help me, then?” “Of course! And I hate you for it! Damn it boy, can’t an old iron beard sit alone in his home without constantly gettin’ tempted by ill-conceived plans of grandeur?” “I mean,” Sinthaster said, “You could still say no…” “And miss out on the Black Chimaera? Oh ho ho you cheeky little bastard, you knew! And ancestors curse my cock with impotence for agreeing with ye, but to see it with me own, crusty eyes. ‘Twould be a dream.” Belkar turned towards the bleak window. “O’course more a nightmare, but with a somewhat refined, happy ending. Now, who is going with us on this suicidal quest?” “I’m so glad you inquired.” ……… Nex Belain had visited many a brothel in his time, but never one filled entirely with men. Surprisingly. Of course there was the occasional female in the scented palace, but only in the form of a customer. Indeed, Arn had no shortage of pleasure houses, and the contact Nex was told to meet was supposedly ‘deep’ inside this very establishment. As he made his way further inside the lavish edifice he came upon a private room. Peeking his head inside he made notice of two women watching the elaborate dance of an oiled danseur. “Um…” Nex murmured from behind the silken curtain, “Vira? Ela?” One woman turned an empty glance towards the warrior; she was round of face and dark of hair. Her ears betrayed her Elven lineage, though to which line she belonged was beyond Nex’s comprehension. To her left sat another woman; scantily clad in silks of her own she sat and watched the performance. Only when nudged from her female companion did she make a motion for Nex to sit beside her. Nex complied, unsure if to make acquaintance with the starkly naked man in the room as well, and sat beside the unknown woman. His neighbor was tall and strong with golden-blonde hair framing a magnificently chiseled face of ice. Her blood seemed of Elven descent as well; half-blood, rather noted, as her demeanor and slightly scarred skin betrayed a human parent. Still, she was remarkably beautiful, and Nex strained his mind to remember a lass more fair than either of these two. “So,” the blonde slithered, “I hear you have work for us?” She had yet to make eye contact with Nex; he was glad, he did not wish Tira’s jealousy upon her. “If you are who you claim to be, then yes,” Nex replied, unsure of where to look in the room. The woman laughed a rich, deep laugh. “I am Vira Elderfall. To my left is my companion Ela of Daggerwood. We are ‘friends’ of the Wolfeater. Now be succinct, if you will, unless you plan on dancing for me next.” “400 Sovereigns each.” Ela peaked her head from around her aroused partner. “Oh shit.” “Ela,” Vira said, “hush. 400, you say?” She turned and looked at the folds of Nex’s tunic, her eyes still teasing his own with real connection. “I’m flattered that Sinthaster still thinks so highly of me. Why, a poor half-breed like me could make a fortune as a Darkmoon parasite.” “Yes, well,” Nex said, producing two hefty bags. “These are binding. Sinthaster said you may try to ‘opt out’ of delivering on the services you are paid for.” “Oh how cheeky,” she hissed playfully. “Me? Opt out? Heartbreaking.” “Oh gods, Vira, shut up with this seductress thing. I can’t even enjoy Vlad anymore. And yes, you ‘opt out’. A lot.” Vira chuckled. “Fine, fine, so I’m burdened with reputation. Still, is 400 Sovereigns ''really ''enough for my skills?” “To be honest,” Nex said, “I have no idea what he sees in you. We need warriors for this task, not self-indulgent plebeians.” “Oh? You really think Sinthaster would pay a small fortune simply to have a common wench patrol his nether-regions while marching to the beat of a frozen drum?” “There is nothing common about you, Vira,” Nex said, matching her stare, “but I would not put it past him, no.” “Well,” she said. “I will show you, then.” She stood, her robe sliding gently to the ground. Her body was fair as milk yet toned and lean with supple muscle. Fully exposed, even the dancer fell out of rhythm. She motioned to Ela who, as if rehearsed to perfection, produced two matching daggers. Vira’s delicate, powerful fingers coiled around them and she extended one towards Nex. “Are you a betting man, Belain?” Nex laughed hard enough to frighten the danseur out of the room. “Always have been, always will be.” “First to bleed becomes subservient to the other for the night. And, if you impress me, I will accept your offer.” “Well,” Nex said with a coy smile. “Seems I win no matter what.” He then, too, removed his robes. The two now stood naked in the room, daggers drawn, with Ela hapless enough to witness their nude shenanigans. “If anyone dies,” Ela said as she departed the chamber, “I’ll be at the pub.” Previous Chapter The Quest for the Black Chimaera part 1: Cambrer's Bar Next Chapter The Quest for the Black Chimaera part 3: The Road to The WardenCategory:Character lore